Lock, Stock and Three Hundred Smackers
by Junkie
Summary: A short Bacon/Tom fic. No slash, just angst hurt/comfort stuff. Written from Bacon’s POV


Lock, Stock and Three Hundred Smackers Author – Fastfood Junkie 

Email – fastf00djunkie@yahoo.co.uk 

Fandom – Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (film) 

Summary – A short Bacon/Tom fic. No slash, just angst hurt/comfort stuff. Written from Bacon's POV. 

Rated – PG-13 

Disclaimer – All major characters belong to Guy Ritchie. 

"Come on Tom, he ain't gonna pay." 

He looked at me like I was a nut. Putting an arm round my shoulders, he quickly steered me away from the big man into the nearest corner, eyes widening in disbelief. 

"He _is_ gonna fuckin pay Bacon," he whispered, a little too loudly. His customer shot us a slightly amused look. "He bought that hi-fi off me and he is gonna pay that three hundred whether he likes it or not." 

I raised my eyebrow but didn't answer. Tom rolled his eyes like I was a lost case and walked back over to his man, the expression of irritation returning to his face. Leaning back against the wall, I glanced around the messy backroom, uninterested in the animated conversation between the two dodgy-dealers. I had seen this so many times. Tom ran a booming little business by himself, one that the rest of us were wary to get involved in. The dangers were countless, a fact that our little entrepreneur didn't seem to notice. Despite his genius when it came to buying and selling stolen goods, he was often naive to the point of being stupid.

I realised I was smiling to myself. Looking up, I could see Tom was busily trying to haggle with his buyer and decided to head outside for a breather. Nothing like the smell of stolen TV's to make you feel claustrophobic. 

******************

  
  
It took a few minutes before I realised what was going on. I was leaning against the wall outside with a cigarette in my hand when I heard a crash. Turning towards the door I got knocked to the side as the man from inside shoved past me, breaking into a run and disappearing before I could get my balance. He could wait. For now I was scrambling to get through the door, stopping short when I noticed the curled up body on the floor. Getting down on my knees, I turned him over and grimaced. Bruises and blood, perfect. 

"Fuckin 'ell Tom, what did you say to 'im?!" 

He groaned, closing his eyes in pain. The sight pushed me back into reality and I dug around in my pocket for my phone. The small screen lit up as I keyed in Eddie's number, praying for an answer. As it rang in my ear, I sat down next to Tom and rubbed his shoulder. He was breathing way too raggedly in my opinion, but I didn't have time to ask anything before Ed's voice rang lazily in my ear. 

"Ed, I need some help, quick."  
  
There was a shuffle on the other end as the younger man sat up in concern. 

"What's 'appened? You alright??" 

Tom took that moment to cough a mouthful of blood and phlegm onto the floor. 

"I'm fine," I grimaced, moving away from the mess, "It's Tom. One of his customers decided he wasn't gonna pay, Tom decided he was. Cue Tom getting his arse kicked." 

"Oh fuck, ok, we'll be there in a minute."  
  
The connection ended and I stuffed the little black phone back in my pocket. 

"Ed's on his way mate," I told Tom, "and by the fact he said 'we' I take it Soap's comin' too. Unless Ed's started talking about himself in terms of royalty."  
  
Tom laughed, something that made me feel a little more relaxed about the situation. Getting up off the floor I tried to find something to mop up the blood, succeeding in getting a roll of kitchen tissue. For possibly the first time ever, we were both silent. Tom was too busy catching his breath, and me…well I s'pose I'm just not very good at the comforting business. Whenever I get hurt I'd rather just be by myself rather than have someone asking if I'm alright every five seconds. Maybe it's pride, I don't know. 

Ed was good to his word, turning up much quicker than I thought he would. Noticing the slightly wide-eyed expression on his face I realised that Soap had most likely been doing his reckless driving bit again. Sure enough, he followed Ed in with the car keys clutched in his hand. The relief must have been evident on my face cause Eddie smiled and patted my shoulder slightly as he bent down. 

"Shit Tom, you sure you wouldn't rather a trip to the hospital?" 

Our blood-spattered friend shook his head and held out a hand. Ed grabbed hold of it while Soap went round the other side, hauling him to his feet and leading him slowly outside. 

I glanced down at the mess on the floor. Every time one of us gets hurt cause of this job it makes me feel guilty. It's not my fault, I know that, but it just seems fuckin harsh. None of us had the chance to do anything with our lives, and all of us are paying the price. 

Lighting up a cigarette, I took a long drag and smudged the blood on the floor with my shoe. I exhaled as they beeped the car horn outside and walked towards the door. 

How long's it gonna be before one of us dies? 

**The End** 


End file.
